


Club Dusty

by Bobblychicken



Category: Cars (Movies), Planes (Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-07
Updated: 2016-05-07
Packaged: 2018-06-06 21:25:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6770500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bobblychicken/pseuds/Bobblychicken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dusty has made a name for himself in the random, for-the-hell-of-it parties that he'll throw, and the canny way that he seems to sense when they're needed the most, and he isn't going to take Ripslinger's reluctance to participate sitting down. Hilarity ensues. Takes place after the events of If You Tame Me. Warning for alcohol usage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Party

The band had opened with “Saturday Night’s Alright for Fighting”, and Dusty knew it was going to be a good party. Sparky was the drummer and was all too happy to call the boys in and have them play for such an occasion, which happened to be for no reason at all. Dusty simply had it on intuition that everybody needed a break and to loosen themselves up for a night. He’d had these feelings before and always turned out to be right again and again after he would throw these huge parties and everyone left happy and fired back up.

Dusty was working on his second drink and already his frame was starting to ache in the way it did before giving way into a nice buzz, so he spent the time talking to Skipper and Chug and a few others and watching Sparky go. He was a riot the way he would twirl his drumsticks or toss them in the air to expert effect during a pause in the beat. Not that it happened often, but Sparky always kept a few spares in a little cup down by his wheels in case he lost any.

Dusty was just about to finish off his drink when he heard the intro to “You May be Right” start up and screamed, “Oh my god, I LOVE THIS SONG!”

“Hey, they’re playing your theme song, Dusty!” Skipper teased, but Dusty was already moving toward the dance floor, muttering, “Love this song… Must dance…” like a zombie.

Skipper shook his front, smiling. It was hard to tell if everyone was in a good mood because of the party itself or because of Dusty’s infectious personality. The old Corsair chuckled, singing along softly as he watched Dusty down on the dance floor with the Smokejumpers having a blast.

Meanwhile, Ripslinger was over trying to blend in with the dim lighting in a less crowded corner, trying to casually scan the hangar, but the tiniest trace of anxiety could still be seen in his face if one knew how to look. He had only come at Dusty’s absolute insistence, but his attempt to hide was in vain as Dusty’s lachrymose-O-meter went off and he started making a beeline toward him as the band started to play “Never Say Die.”

“Hey, you actually came! I didn’t even see you come in! How’ve ya been?”

“Peachy,” Ripslinger replied, his olive-colored eyes nervously sweeping the hangar again.

“Where’s Ned and Zed?”

“They’re probably out on the dance floor somewhere.”

“Well, what’re we waiting for then, let’s go!”

“I’d rather not.”

“Why not?” Dusty asked, already grabbing one of Ripslinger’s wingtips in his mouth to try to drag him off before he could even answer.

The P-51's eyes narrowed as he applied the breaks, going stiff in his landing gear.

“No.”

“Aw, come on, what’s the matter?”

“Hey, you told me to come, I showed up. You didn’t say anything about actually having to participate.”

“Hey, this is a Dusty Party. That goes without saying. I mean, you don’t even have a drink in front of you.”

“Yeah and it’ll take a lot of them to get me to dance around, and I’m not starting anytime soon.”

“Hey, nobody came to this thing to be sober. Except maybe Blade. Now come on, let’s get you a drink.”

The band had gone into “Working Man” when Dusty came back from the bar with a drink on each wing. He slid Ripslinger’s in front of him before eagerly sucking down his own. Ripslinger eyed it and took a sniff, recoiling a bit. It sure smelt strong.

“Okay, what the hell is this?”

“It’s just JD & C. You’ll like it!”

“I’ve had them before!” Ripslinger snapped irritably before taking a sip, nearly spitting it out before it got past his tongue.

This wasn’t Jack n’ Coke. This was just a glass full of Jack Daniel’s with a little squirt of Coca Cola over the top of it.

“Isn’t it great?” Dusty beamed at him with that stupid smile of his.

“This bar tender is trying to kill us.”

“No, that’s just how they make ‘em here!”

“Yeah, whatever.” He took another sip, his face screwing up a bit.

Dusty was about mid sip when his eyes widened at hearing the guy on keyboard start up a _very_ familiar intro. _Is that? *gasp* No… No, no._ Then he looked over at Sparky, who bounced his brows at him before starting up a drum beat for “Hot in Herre.” Dusty had started laughing so hard his voice could only manage to squeak as he tried to catch his breath.

“Oh my god!”

Ripslinger smirked and took another sip, watching the band play. He had to admit, the song had never sounded better. Two more drinks later and he was considerably more relaxed, but maintained that it was nowhere near enough to get him out on the dancefloor. That was until “Uptown Funk” started up, and Dusty was once again dragging him away from the tables. How _is_ it that he was so horrifically strong?! Was it the alcohol?

At first Ripslinger just sort of hung back a little ways watching Dusty get his groove on, sometimes catching himself rocking a bit to the music, but eventually everyone else on the floor had gotten really into the song as they had started emulating Dusty, throwing up their flaps and ailerons at each “Oooh!” during the chorus. Before he knew it, Ripslinger was dancing along with everybody else, and while everybody was mostly uniform in keeping up their steps as the next chorus ended, Dusty had started jumping around on the spot, facing a different way each time he landed until he made a complete 360 back to his original position. He had this look of utter glee on his face and Ripslinger laughed at the spectacle. A real laugh. And Dusty’s smile got impossibly bigger as he had still managed to hear it through all the noise. It was a beautiful sound.

Fast forward through a few drinks later and Dusty and Ripslinger were at it again, dancing their tails off and singing along to the breakdown in “Renegades of Funk”. After the last song, the band was between sets, giving themselves and everybody else a much needed break. Dusty used it for more socializing while Ripslinger regrouped with Ned and Zed, and of course they immediately capitalized on the fact that he was a little drunk to start teasing him.

“We got it on film, boss!” Ned crowed.

“You were actually having fun! Ripslinger knows how to have fun!”

“We thought you forgot how!”

He opened his mouth to object but ended up smiling and letting out a laughing sigh. It was true. Ripslinger was honest to goodness having the time of his life tonight. He hadn’t had this much fun in… well, a while. Dusty had rubbed off on him more than he’d ever realized. Speaking of which, where the hell was he?

Dusty was, in fact finishing off yet another drink when he’d spotted Blade over with Skipper, who was finishing off a modest enough glass of Bushmills. They seemed to be having a serious but friendly conversation when Dusty rolled to a stop in front of the two of them, swaying happily on his landing gear, making his wings go through a rolling motion. Blade gave him an amused smile as Dusty opened his mouth and took a breath like he was going to say something to him, but then he closed it again and booped him on the nose with a wing-tip instead before moving back toward the dance floor as the band started up again with “Give it to Me Baby.”

The smile immediately dropped from Blade’s face and was replaced by a look of slightly frightened concern. He glanced sideways at Skipper.

“I think someone’s had a little too much to drink tonight.”

“Right. S’cuse me a second.”

By this time Ripslinger had finally caught sight of Dusty and made to follow him, but a broad, stormy-blue wing blocked his path. His mind was a bit slow in recognizing it at the moment, but as his eyes traveled up the rest of the wing up to the face it belonged to he was damn-near knocked sober. Criminy, what did Skipper want? He had been on his best behavior the whole night!

“I’m calling it a night.” said Skipper, his tone even as he gave a cool yet somehow hard look at Ripslinger dead in the face. Why was he telling him this? “I’m way past staying up all night trying to keep an eye on the kids.”

Ripslinger gave him an inquiring look of surprise. They both looked down to where Dusty was down rocking and bouncing gently into his landing gear between Echo and Bravo as the band played “Frontin'”. Boy, was _he_ brave, to put himself between those two. Skipper continued, carefully going over each word as he spoke.

“Please, do not let Dusty have any more to drink tonight.”

Ripslinger was a bit dumbstruck, and before he could say anything Skipper turned, giving a plucky “Night night!” as he rolled away. So the old man wanted _him_ to keep an eye on Dusty for him?

_Boy, I really **have** come a long way, haven’t I?_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End??????
> 
> The set list is as follows: Elton John “Saturday Night’s Alright for Fighting”, Billy Joel “You May Be Right”, Black Sabbath “Never Say Die”, Rush “Working Man”, Nelly “Hot in Herre”, Bruno Mars “Uptown Funk”, Rage Against the Machine “Renegades of Funk”, Rick James “Give it to Me Baby”, and last but not least, Pharrell “Frontin’ ft Jay-Z.” Hope everybody got as good a laugh out of this as I did!


	2. Later That Night...

It was 2:30am, and just now were a certain P-51 and former crop duster trying to make it back to their hangars. Dusty had ended up getting completely trashed, and Ripslinger was struggling to keep a straight course himself. Dusty was sagging down awfully low into his landing gear again, threatening to topple to the ground, and as Ripslinger started to turn around to try and keep him up, down he went. He rolled up to Dusty, sighing roughly as he looked down at him, who looked back up at Ripslinger and then burst into a fit of giggles when he couldn’t focus on his face properly.

“Alright, let’s get you to bed,” Ripslinger said as he came around behind Dusty, slipping his nose under his tail to his belly and attempting to tip him back up, nearly falling over himself. At first, Dusty simply tipped down onto this nose and slid forward as Ripslinger pushed him. “All right, help me out here.” Ripslinger grunted as he continued trying to nudge him up, “Come on. Up, up, up.”

Dusty staggered back up onto his landing gear and started to toddle forward again. Ripslinger had hoped to do this quietly so that by the time Skipper found out, Dusty would be nursing a wicked hangover and he himself would be nice and far away back on the west coast. But it didn’t seem like it was going to pan out that way as Dusty had now started laughing and was getting louder by the minute. A few times he ended up laughing so hard that he would have to stop and lean up against Ripslinger for support. Ripslinger, smiling stupidly as he tried to not to laugh himself, kept trying to push Dusty onward, shushing him every now and then to no effect. Dusty looked like he was about to fall again and Ripslinger braced himself to hold him up if he did.

“Come on… Let’s go to bed,” Ripslinger urged, a little out of breath by now. He tried to nudge him forward again, but then Dusty suddenly dropped to the ground again, laughing harder than ever.

“Dusty!” Ripslinger whispered harshly, “Shut the hell _up_!”

“You’re just as drunk as I am, stop pretending not to be!” Dusty yelled as he both failed to shrug Ripslinger off or sound assertive before his laughter once again began echoing all over the hangars.

How Skipper hadn’t woke up and murdered them yet was beyond Ripslinger in his current state of mind.

“Be quiet! If you wake up Skipper and he sees us he’s going to kill us for waking him up, then he’s gonna drag me back from the dead and kill me again for letting you get this drunk!”

“Whatever, I’m gonna die laughing then. Hey Skipper!”

_Son of a bitch._

Ripslinger slowly turned around to see a still slightly drunk, but very tired and VERY pissed off Corsair burning holes right into the both of them.

“Hope you boys have your wills filled out correctly.”

_… Well, fuck._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Rubs hands together and laughs evilly*


End file.
